


Burning Hearts

by mrnorrell



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Drama, Family Loss, Loss, M/M, Romance, Slow Burn, War Table Operation: Protect Clan Lavellan (Dragon Age) - Failure, vaguely canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-27 22:00:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30129456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrnorrell/pseuds/mrnorrell
Summary: Like so many other stories, this one begins at the end of a beginning.  It's a story about loss, about love, and about learning to live with one's past, present, and future.[A rewrite and reimagining of the original story by the same title]
Relationships: Male Lavellan/Dorian Pavus
Kudos: 1
Collections: Burning Hearts Collection





	1. Natha:Lath'in

**Author's Note:**

> The story takes place right before Protect Clan Lavellan and follows the Inquisitor's life and love after its failure. The timeline is loosely canon and the story may contain some vaguely canon concepts of magic and lyrium use. There will also be themes that may be triggering to some. I have chosen not to include tags for spoiler reasons so read at your own risk!
> 
> A big thank you to fenxshiral for the elven phrases and the thorough breakdown of the language. Another big thank you to people on the DA discord for helping me work through difficult phrasing and providing me with excellent advice.
> 
> Please don't hesitate to leave feedback, whatever it may be.
> 
> You are all breathtaking!  
> <3

_**"We know so perfectly how to give birth to the monsters inside us, but for reasons I will never figure out, we have not the slightest clue of what to do with all the love." -Christopher Pointdexter** _

**Natha:Lath’in**

Quiet. Blessed quiet. The sun had set hours ago and the great Skyhold hall was finally empty, lit only by the moonlight streaming in from the tall ornate windows that towered over the throne. Though, ‘Rhen would hardly call the chair that occupied the dais a throne. Not quite as ostentatious as his other options – and far more comfortable – it was made of heavy oak braced with iron and draped with luxurious furs. A gift from Ferelden for handling the mess in Crestwood. They sent additional wolf and hound carvings a month later, but ‘Rhen had thought them superfluous and opted for storing them out of sight. The chair was large enough as it was. Ridiculously so. He wasn’t even a monarch. What use had he of a throne? But Josephine and Leliana had insisted. Something about image and projection of power. ‘Rhen hadn’t bothered arguing, knowing full well the futility of it. And thus, a giant chair for him to sit in on occasion and pass judgement. A long way from his place in Haven’s dungeons. 'Rhen humphed darkly, rubbing at his wrists, and leaned against the heavy oak door leading to his quarters.

It had been far too long since he allowed himself the luxury of a break. No missions, no letters, no politics. Just a single moment to catch his breath before the madness resumed. It wasn’t by choice. ‘Rhen was, apparently, looking a little extra ragged these days. He felt it, too. A struggling breath here, an aching joint there. Sleep did not come easy. Though, when did it ever? But it was difficult to put the sword down when he knew what awaited them if he did. He glanced at his hand. It didn't glow but 'Rhen could still feel the faint pulse of magic, his connection to the fade. Even after all this time he was still not used to it. He wasn’t even sure he understood it. 'Rhen had been a fighter all his life. If it wasn’t the sword, it was his fists. 

This, though? This was something else entirely. Magic was for mages and circles and... Well, others. ‘Rhen didn’t believe for a second in the whole Andraste’s chosen business and he had said as much. His life was not one of those copper piece novels the rich and the bored seemed so enamored with where a dashing young hero gets imbued with mystical powers and saves the day, then marries off to some unfortunate heiress with Maker’s blessing or whatnot. ‘Rhen did believe in shit luck, though, and he knew he just happened to have been in the wrong place at the wrong time. And his run of shit luck was determined to keep on coming. _Let’s put a Dalish elf in charge of a controversial organization with no oversight that’s reshaping the political structure of all Thedas. That’ll go super well_. He pushed open the door and slowly climbed up the steps, knees giving protest, as his mind sorted through the events at Halamshiral.

'Rhen was no politician, that was Josephine's forte, and the song and dance he had to perform for the Orlesian nobility - on top of preventing an all-out war - was more than a little exhausting. His years of experience have taught him the depths of human hatred for his people. Yet still, even in his position, he had to endure the whispers, the stares, and the surprisingly overt remarks on his heritage. On more than one occasion a steady hand had to calm his anger. If it weren’t for Josephine, Orlais would most definitely have been short a few nobles by the time he was done. 

In the end, ‘Rhen was amazed things turned out as well as they had. The government did not collapse, Celene was still alive, and Florianne awaited judgement in the coldest and darkest cell in Skyhold. And yet 'Rhen would pay all the gold in Thedas to never set foot in Orlais again. Everything was a game to those people, damned be the consequences. He longed for the simple days of his clan life when the fate of the world rested on someone else’s shoulders. For a moment, ‘Rhen wondered if the Warden had felt the same. He, too, was thrust into spotlight against his will, forced to make world changing decisions. Or had he chosen willingly? 

There was one bright spot in all the chaos, though. One perfect moment that made it all worth it. A small smile crept onto his face as the warmth of his last night at the Winter Palace flooded his memory. He was sure his dance with Dorian had started more than a few rumors and it should have worried him. But at the time, all ‘Rhen could think about was Dorian’s solid frame pressed against his own. Dorian’s breath against his skin as he recounted the night’s gossip. Dorian’s arms guiding him so expertly ‘Rhen had forgotten he didn’t know how to dance. It had set his blood aflame and left him wanting- needing more, chased by thoughts of what Dorian looked like without his trappings of belts and buckles and leather. He was glad the night had been dark, and the music had ended before he had made his thoughts more… obvious. And a timely arrival of one of the ambassadors had saved him from a mountain of embarrassment. 

Of course, ‘Rhen knew it was foolish to wish for more than he deserved. Considering what he’d done, what he’s got should have been more than enough. But Dorian – Dorian made him _want_. And each passing day made it more difficult to deny it. All those days spent so close but never quite close enough, and the nights spent alone, wishing…

'Rhen shook his head to clear his mind. This was a dangerous thought to follow and one best left untouched. Tucking the memory away as best he could, ‘Rhen turned his thoughts to Evelline. His smile widened as he imagined how much his sister must have grown since they parted ways. When he left the clan, she had just turned six, so full of hope and life, both vibrantly reflected in the green of her eyes. If there was anyone he was fighting for, it was her. 'Rhen hadn’t known her long, but in the few years they’ve lived together, Evelline had come to mean everything to him. She was the reason he started living instead of just surviving and he would damn well make sure he’d do the same for her. No ancient darkspawn would stand in his way. 

‘Rhen felt regret at not having time to visit, and more than a little guilt. He promised Evelline he would write to her with wondrous tales of his travels and adventures, and of all the animals and people he encountered. But with everything going on it had slipped through the cracks. Time and time again. The wooden halla Blackwall had carved for him still sat on his desk, gathering dust. ‘Rhen had meant to send it ages ago. With this forced time off, though, it was an opportunity to make good on his promise.

As he crested the top of the stairs, motion from the corner of his eye caught his attention and ‘Rhen nearly tripped at the sight of -

“Dorian!” he exclaimed, startled to see the mage sitting on his bed. “I wasn’t expecting…” His voice trailed off as Dorian looked up to meet his gaze, summoning the very thoughts ‘Rhen was trying so very hard to bury. It was ridiculously unfair that the man didn't even have to try. A simple look from him was all it took to make 'Rhen weak in the knees. It shouldn’t be this easy. But, gods, those eyes, that smile, that mouth… He steadied himself against the railing, hoping the flush of his skin was not as obvious as it felt. 

“Ah. There you are,” Dorian said, his trademark half-smile playing across his face and straight through ‘Rhen’s heart. “Sorry about this. I do hope you don't mind me using your, ah, rather spacious quarters. Can’t read anywhere in peace these days.” 

_You are incredible,_ 'Rhen wanted to say, along with a few other things that were far too inappropriate for regular conversation. He chose to bite his tongue, instead. He was determined not to make a fool of himself tonight.

“Are you hiding?” 'Rhen asked with some bemusement, senses grudgingly returning. The idea of Dorian hiding from anyone was ludicrous. Then, his brows furrowed in concern as another thought occurred. “Is your father here?” He didn’t remember inviting Halward Pavus to Skyhold. In fact, after the whole business in Redcliffe he hoped he would never have to see the man again, if only for Dorian's sake. He was glad to help them reconcile, sure, but wanted nothing more to do with the magister.

Dorian frowned in response and ‘Rhen immediately regretted bringing the matter up. Family was a difficult topic for both of them and he hated causing undue distress. He was about to apologize when Dorian put down his book and looked squarely at him.

“Worse,” he replied, the intensity in his eyes doing things to ‘Rhen he precisely wished to avoid. “Do you remember the last conversation I had with Mother Giselle?” 'Rhen’s heart skipped a few beats, and his mouth went dry. Dorian was not making it easy for him tonight. How could he forget? The memory of Dorian’s mouth on his – hot, wet, and tasting of wine – sent a bolt of arousal straight to his cock and ‘Rhen’s hand instinctively reached up to his face to brush his thumb over his lower lip, biting at the calloused pad. The small bit of pain was just enough to keep him from tumbling over the edge.

“Of course,” 'Rhen acknowledged, clearing his throat and turning away from Dorian. _Fuck…_ It took every ounce of restraint he had to not close the short distance to his bed and do unspeakable things to the man occupying it. Dorian didn’t seem to notice the torment he was putting ‘Rhen through, though. Fortunately. 

“Believe me, her trying to be civil is far worse. I much preferred her backhanded remarks.”

As Dorian returned to his book, ‘Rhen took a few long drags of air through his nose and relaxed his grip on the rail, relieved to no longer be the focus of attention. Though part of him couldn’t help but feel a stab of disappointment. They never discussed what happened in that alcove and ‘Rhen was hesitant to bring it up in case it was not what he thought it was. But it had to have been _something_ , right? They weren't 'just friends', or just a rumor. It didn’t help that ‘Rhen himself had no idea what it meant. For him or for them – was there even a _them_? It was like being stuck in limbo that ‘Rhen wasn't quite sure how to get out of. Though he wasn't quite sure how he stumbled into it, either. Dorian had been on his mind long before that, he just didn't think anything would come of it. And then Redcliffe happened and there was a small glimmer of hope. And then that glimmer became a full-blown fire that kept him awake at night.

“I’m sure she means well,” ‘Rhen finally replied, forcing down his frustration. He would have to do something about it later. Again. For now, he pushed off the wall and stalked over to his desk, steering his mind towards less traitorous thoughts. He needed to break away before he said or did something stupid as his body became more acutely aware of Dorian's presence, so languidly spread across his bed.

“Yes. Well,” Dorian said wryly, waving airily, “she can go mean well with someone else.” His voice trailed off as he resumed his reading and 'Rhen found himself alone with his thoughts. He looked out the window, breathing in the cold night air and trying to compartmentalize. It was just a kiss, it meant nothing. He knew that. Damn it, he _knew_ that. Yet every time he saw Dorian, his heart felt like it would beat straight out of his chest. And them being alone together... 

No. No longing glances in Dorian’s direction. He needed to stop. It was hard enough as it was with his mind running around in circles, making it impossible to focus on anything else. Plus, before he could sort out the feelings for the mage currently occupying his bed, he had other matters to attend to. A promise was a promise. 

‘Rhen picked up the small halla carving and ran his thumb over the fine wood grain. Blackwall did an exceptional job. The detail was stunning. With inlaid eyes of lazurite and horns carved out of dragon bone it looked almost real. Hallas were Evelline’s favorite. She firmly believed they brought good luck and would often spend her afternoons with the clan’s herders, mostly to their frustration as she often snuck the halla out for walks around the woods. Maybe once this mess was over, he could retire and return to his clan. 

He wasn’t supposed to have gone to the Conclave. He had begged not to. But the Keeper had chosen him as their envoy because of his knowledge and he couldn’t very well have refused. Not after everything she had done for him. This was one debt ‘Rhen would never be able to repay. Not that he minded.

“Should I leave?” Dorian’s voice cut through his thoughts. ‘Rhen thought for a moment before turning to face him again, gently setting the small halla statuette down. Surrounded by thick blankets of fur and finely woven Ferelden cotton, Dorian was the picture of perfection. One would have to be absolutely blind not to see it. But it wasn't just Dorian's appearance that drew 'Rhen to him, though it helped. Underneath all those layers of sarcasm and humor, there was infinite compassion and wisdom that no doubt was hidden for self-preservation. Orlais was bad, but Tevinter must have been so much worse. The truth was Dorian was a much better man than anyone gave him credit for. Certainly, better than 'Rhen could ever hope to be. That didn’t stop him from wanting to ravish every inch of Dorian’s body, however. But tonight, ‘Rhen needed quiet company more. He had forgotten how lonely the nights at Skyhold were.

“If you don't mind the cold, I don’t mind the company,” he finally replied and walked over to the fireplace to throw another log in. It really was cold. The Frostbacks were always covered in snow, but with their approach into winter, the temperatures were dropping below comfort levels.

The evening passed in silence, broken occasionally by a small chuckle from Dorian. Periodically, one of them would get up to light another candle or put another log on the fire, but for the most part time passed without another exchange. 'Rhen finished his letter and began working his way through a stack of missives and requests to the Inquisition. It felt never ending and, at times, completely irrelevant. But he was asked to do this and so he did, night off or not. Building favor, as Josephine called it. He thumbed at his ring absentmindedly as his eyes scanned over a sheet of parchment, resting his head in the palm of his hand. It was a letter of gratitude from yet another person he helped with he'd forgotten what. It was starting to become difficult to keep track. The pledge of support, though, would no doubt be invaluable. ‘Rhen yawned and stretched, glancing at the darkened windows. How long was he at this? The candles were nearly spent, sending dancing shadows across the walls and it was quiet. He snuck a glance over the letter he was reading to check on Dorian. 

The mage was asleep, the open book on his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm of his breathing. It was the first time ‘Rhen had seen him like this. Face shadowed by stubble and hair completely out of place, Dorian looked… human. It was completely disarming, and it stirred a painful longing in ‘Rhen, tightening around his heart. He had never considered domestic life. It was just something he never thought he'd have. He always pictured himself going out in some battle, or perhaps mauled by some bear – which was far likelier than one would think. But if this were it, would it be so terrible to give himself up? To trade his past for these quiet nights of peace...

No.

Yet another foolish dream. 'Rhen sighed and returned to the letter. He couldn't remember what it was about. His mind kept wandering off and his eyes were starting to glaze over. It had been a long day, as most days were, but he was getting used to it. Somewhat. After almost a year of this, it was like being swept up by a wave and eventually learning and mastering its currents, though more so out of necessity than want. Survival had always been the best teacher. 

Setting aside the letter, ‘Rhen kicked off his boots and softly walked over to the bed where Dorian stirred but did not wake. He desperately wanted to reach out, to touch, to kiss, to feel something other than a glimmer of hope or crushing loneliness but doubt and fear stayed his hand. 

This wasn’t his to have. 

After a moment of hesitation, he carefully pulled off a blanket and a couple pillows and arranged them on the floor by the fireplace. Too tired to notice the discomfort, he downed the contents of a small vial given to him by Adan and drifted off to sleep.

***

The next morning 'Rhen awoke to an empty room, body aching from sleeping on the floor. There were additional covers thrown over him and the warmth they brought made 'Rhen hesitant to get up. He pulled them tighter around himself, the scent of Dorian’s bath soaps still lingering on them, and squeezed his eyes shut against the intruding daylight, doing his damnedest to ignore the familiar pang of disappointment. If only he could stay here forever, wrapped in his daydream. ‘Rhen pressed the soft fabric to his nose, flooding his senses with memories that reawakened last night’s cravings, and his hips bucked in response, seeking friction. _Fenedhis_ … Why did he keep doing this to himself? He drew his knees to his chest and sucked in a deep breath through his teeth, smothering his arousal. 

It was still early, but he knew eventually someone would expect him. Though it wasn't the expectation that finally pulled him out, but his unhappy stomach as it grumbled in discontent. He had forgotten to eat the night before and was paying the price for it.

Keeping one of the blankets draped over him, 'Rhen groaned and stalked over to the water basin. He broke the thin layer of ice and dipped his hands in. The frigid water sent shivers down his spine and after silently counting to three, he splashed it on his face. He swore loudly as the shock brought him to full wakefulness. The cold was one thing he probably would never be used to. He shook the water from his face and ran his wet fingers through the mess of his hair, trying to put it into some semblance of order. Hopefully, no one expected him to meet with foreign dignitaries today, especially not in his day old, slept-in outfit which he had no energy or motivation to change out of. ‘Rhen shoved his feet into his boots and headed for the stairs.

He was about to open the door when someone knocked. He swung it open, half expecting the whole of Inquisition behind it, with Josephine’s worried face fronting it, but it was just one of Leliana’s messengers. 

“Message for you, Inquisitor.” she curtly stated, holding out a piece of paper.

“Ah. Thank you.”

The messenger did not reply. She simply put the note in 'Rhen’s hands, nodded in acknowledgement, and vanished back down the stairs. It took a moment for 'Rhen to recover from the initial surprise. The interaction was so brief it caught him off guard, his mind still sleep-addled. He stepped back into the room by the window and flipped over the message. His name was written on the front in Leliana’s delicate handwriting. Odd that she’d send a note rather than come up herself. Figuring that she was probably away at the moment, 'Rhen broke the seal and read the letter.

_Inquisitor,_

_I was hoping we wouldn’t hear any more news out of Wycome. However, such is not our luck. A raven came in last night bearing news from your Keeper. I have to take care of some urgent business, but I have updated Cullen and Josephine on the matter. Meet them in the war room so you can discuss options. This is something you should take care of soon._

_-Leliana_

Hunger and tiredness vanished as 'Rhen’s heart dropped to the floor. Evelline. 

The duke had been dealt with, but that left too many unhappy nobles who were likely looking for any excuse to strike back. And knowing what he knew, ‘Rhen was certain it would involve bloodshed. He should have known better than to let the matter rest. 

Steadying himself, ‘Rhen took a deep breath. This was not something he was willing to wait on. He closed his fist around the note and made his way down to the war room. When he opened the door, Cullen was the only advisor in. He was leaning over the table, brows creased, looking solemn. 'Rhen had heard of his past, but by the way the shadow crossed over Cullen’s face when he talked about it, he knew there was more to it. It seemed like everyone here was broken in one way or another.

“Inquisitor!” Cullen looked up in surprise as though startled out of deep thought. “We weren’t … ah...oh! Josephine! Good, you’re here!” 'Rhen turned to see Josephine walk in behind him, looking more tired than usual. The war was wearing everyone a little thin. She nodded politely at both of them and before joining Cullen on the other side of the table, she handed 'Rhen a worn piece of parchment.

“A letter from your Keeper, Inquisitor.”

‘Rhen took it with a shaking hand, unfolded it, and began reading it aloud, failing to keep the worry from his voice.

“ _Da’len, Thanks to the efforts of your Inquisition, Clan Lavellan is safe within the city of Wycome, and Duke Antoine’s mad efforts to destroy us have ended with his death. For now, I lead both our clan and the elves of this city, while the human merchants have formed a group that deals with us fairly and honorably_.” An audible sigh of relief escaped him. They were okay. It was not as bad as he had feared. Relaxing a bit, he read on. “ _The other cities of the Free Marches listen to the false stories of the nobles who fled. I fear they will retaliate, but I am loathed to flee this city, as that would effectively leave the city elves to die for our actions. If you have a path that leads to safety for our people, I welcome your advice. Dareth shiral. Keeper Istimaethoriel Lavellan_.” 'Rhen felt his muscles stiffen, anxiety returning in full force with the Keeper’s confirmation of his suspicions. He was right. This was something they should have expected. No human liked when an elf stepped on their toes. Or killed one of their own. If something wasn’t done immediately- No. He couldn’t consider that possibility. He wouldn’t. 

“I am certain we can negotiate peace between both parties,” Josephine spoke up, cutting through ‘Rhen’s thoughts. “I can send diplomats.”

“Are you mad?” Cullen interjected. “Those elves will be dead before any of your diplomats arrive. We need to send reinforcements to fortify the city.”

“I’m sure that’s unnecessary, Cullen.” Josephine retorted. “I know we can resolve this without further threats.”

"While I trust in your ability, I know their type."

The argument faded into the background as 'Rhen stared at the letter, trying to figure out what to do. Wycome was far. It would take him days to get there and when he did, what would he do? His history with humans wasn't exactly a shining example of good will, with good reason.

“What are our options?” he asked, looking to his advisors.

“Cullen believes we need to send in soldiers-”

“Because it’s the only way!” Cullen interrupted, eliciting an angry sigh from Josephine.

“It is not! Your worship, I know people in that area! I can have my diplomats resolve this without further violence!”

“Josephine, you know full well the Marchers will kill everyone and apologize later. We can’t take that risk!” Cullen argued back.

“Inquisitor?” 

Fenedhis! Why did they have to settle so far? Cullen presented a convincing argument, but 'Rhen thought the presence of soldiers would only be seen as a sign of aggression that would certainly escalate into chaos. The last thing he wanted. Josephine, on the other hand, could talk her way out of any situation. If she trusted her diplomats, then perhaps that was the better option. He looked to her in confirmation.

“Okay, Josephine. Send in your people.”

Cullen shook his head in disapproval but said nothing further. The only option left to 'Rhen was to wait and hope to gods everything worked out. Easier said than done. It was difficult to not second-guess his decision, but he had to trust. He had no choice. All he could do was occupy himself to the point of mindlessness. It was the only way he would be able to get through this.


	2. Dinal:Lath'in

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Falon'Din enasal enaste - a prayer for the dead. Used here sarcastically
> 
> Andruil, lasa ghilan - a prayer for guidance to Andruil, goddess of the hunt
> 
> Su an'banal i'min. Ahn sulevem, ne... - To the void with this. What is meant to be, will be…

**Dinal:Lath’in**

'Rhen sensed the rift before he saw it. Electric energy shot through his arm and up his spine, setting his teeth on edge as the anchor sparked to life. Green luminescent tendrils wove through his fingers like a miniature lightning storm and his arm went numb. An unfortunate side effect of his condition, and one he was still learning to deal with.

"Another tear," ‘Rhen commented, shaking out his hand and scanning the horizon for the telltale glow. It should be easier to spot in the night. His nerves coiled and his body went taught, ready to strike. They had taken a few rifts down over the past couple days, but this one felt different. More dangerous. "Be cautious," he added and reached to his side pouch for a draught of lyrium. 

"Has to be recent. It wasn't on Harding's report," Cassandra quipped. 'Rhen could hear the tension in her voice. She was right. This one _was_ new. They had been by here earlier. Though, truthfully, everything here looked the same to ‘Rhen. Sand, more sand, and an occasional rock jutting out of even more sand. Why were they here, again? He downed the lyrium with one hand while the other rested on the chain whip at his hip. He didn't like being caught off guard. 

"There." Varric called from behind, pointing west over the sand dunes where a faint green glow illuminated the hillside. 

"Maybe we can just leave it for the Venatori to find and they can magic each other into oblivion!" 

"Dorian-" ‘Rhen shot him a sideway glance and Dorian waved dismissively.

"Yes, I know, I know. Herald of Andraste and all that. Alright. Let's go do your thing. Just do be careful. I'd hate to be the one to tell our spymaster that you've perished in a fiery blaze of glory."

"Sparkler, if our dear Inquisitor perishes in a fiery blaze of glory, you can be sure we are next."

"Well, there is an unsettling thought. Shall we try to not die, then?"

"Excellent idea."

"Ugh. Both of you. For the love of Maker, shut up."

"Worried I won't get to finish Swords and Shields, Seeker?"

" _Falon'Din enasal enaste_ ," 'Rhen muttered, rolling his eyes, and urged his hart towards the rift. If the demons didn’t kill them, they would surely finish the job admirably on their own. He was beginning to rethink bringing both Cassandra and Varric, especially after their spat over Hawke. But if he could put aside his worry, surely they could leave their grudges at camp. He needed them both functional. At least he still had Dorian. Though, that was, at times, a curse in its own right. 

A thought for another time. For now, he needed to focus.

It didn't take long for the group to follow. As they got closer to the rift, his whole hand began to glow and pulse with fade magic, drawn to the tear. It was stronger than any he had encountered in quite some time. But with lyrium coursing through him he felt unstoppable. It sang in his veins, blocking all other thought but that of victory. An intoxicating thrill that gave him courage to be reckless. He climbed onto the saddle of his still galloping hart and without skipping a beat, leapt off with the grace of a Dalish master hunter. 

In one swift motion, 'Rhen unleashed the chain at his hip and whipped it towards the nearest demon, yanking it towards himself as the chain wrapped around its neck. It gurgled in surprise, clawing at the metal in futility as it was dragged through the night air to its death. It only had a moment to panic before 'Rhen kicked it to the ground and impaled the blade of his sword deep in its chest. It faded into green mist, absorbed back into the tear.

With no time to spare, 'Rhen let out a bellow and charged at the pride demon, deftly dodging its charges of lightning. _Don't think, just act,_ _the lyrium urged, and ‘Rhen obeyed_. He swung his sword with both hands in an arc over his head and brought it crashing down, slicing through demon flesh. It barely stumbled as it turned its gaze on 'Rhen and let out a deep, menacing laughter. 'Rhen didn't pause. He deftly sidestepped an arm swing and landed behind it, this time swinging his sword in a wide arc in front of him, aiming for its legs. It screeched as metal sheared through flesh.

The demon barely stumbled. Its massive form rounded on 'Rhen, both arms reaching out to grab him, hands glowing with electric energy. Somewhere behind him, 'Rhen heard a shout followed by a volley of arrows. That momentary distraction was all he needed. Reaching up to the sky, ‘Rhen concentrated on his connection to the lyrium and the fade and pulled down. A blinding white beam struck down from the sky, hitting directly above the demon and felling it to its knees. 

It howled in pain and rage, unleashing lightning in every direction and hitting 'Rhen square in the chest. ‘Rhen stumbled back, clenching his teeth, but managed to keep a tight grip on his sword. Enraged, he raised it over his head and with as much strength as he could muster, backed by adrenaline and lyrium, brought it down on the kneeling demon with an earth-shattering blow, sundering the earth below and manifesting flames up out of it. The demon’s roar faded into the night as it split and vanished into green mist, leaving behind only a chunk of viscera.

‘Rhen only had a moment to breathe. As he heaved his sword up and over his shoulder, more demons poured out of the sky. Within seconds, they were surrounded. 

An awful wail filled the night air followed by a terrifying chill. 

_Don't think. Just act_. 

'Rhen spun around in a circle with his blade out, slicing through a number of wraiths and then fell into a defensive stance as one of the terror demons swung its claws at his face. It shrieked as his blade sliced through its arm and, pulling the stump close to its chest, retaliated with the other arm. 'Rhen was quicker. He swung his chain out towards a nearby shade and pulled it in front of him, right in the path of the demon’s claws. The shade vanished soundlessly as the terror demon screamed in frustration. Raising its eyeless sockets to the sky, it let out a blood-curdling howl. 

"There's too many of them!" Cassandra shouted from somewhere behind him. "We must retreat!" 

Her words barely registered in 'Rhen's mind, the demon's howl still ringing in his ears. He could feel fear creeping in at the edges, its cold fingers threatening to drag him down. But he pushed past it, downing another vial of lyrium. It was risky, but the extra boost of speed and strength was worth it. Rolling out of the way of the demon's claws, he re-positioned himself behind it and swung his sword directly at its head, cleaving it in two. It froze mid-step, swaying unsteadily. ‘Rhen let out a single huff as he freed his blade, believing he had it. But the thing’s head slowly twisted around and looked directly at him before vanishing entirely into the sand. _Fuck!_ Lyrium or not, the sight sent a chill down his spine.

"Inquisitor!"

‘Rhen heard the warning just as an icy blast sailed past his head. _Shit!_ Despair demon. He'd almost forgotten. A faint blue glow sprang around him, and he nodded to Dorian in appreciation, noting the look of concern on the mage's face. No time for that. This was taking far too long. Reaching deep within himself, ‘Rhen tugged at his connection to the fade. In response, the glow on his hand sprang to life, filling his ears with a low hum. 

"Watch my back!" 'Rhen called out and reached out to the rift. He pulled at its edges with the anchor, straining against the magic that refused to obey. Just... a little.... more... There! The anchor flashed in a brilliant burst of light just as a set of claws slashed through the armor of his exposed side, tearing through metal, leather, and flesh. Searing pain filled his whole body and 'Rhen stumbled, eyes becoming unfocused. He cursed and twisted, shaking his head to clear it, and swung his sword blindly in a wide arc. A shallow breath rocked his chest and ‘Rhen had to steady himself before falling again into a defensive stance. _Andruil, lasa ghilan..._ Gritting his teeth against the pain, he charged at the demon, its split head leering at him with those eyeless sockets, dripping fluids from its face and arm stump. It raised its other hand against him, but instead of the blade, 'Rhen hit it with the butt of his sword, knocking it backwards. As it fell, he sidestepped around it and swung his sword upward, shearing the head clean off. It flew into the air and dissipated with the rest of the body. 

"Close it before more come through!"

‘Rhen didn’t need to be told twice. Without hesitation, he reached for the rift one last time, reestablishing the connection, and sealed the tear, plunging them into darkness. The hum in his ears subsided and the silence of the night returned.

"Are you mad?!" Cassandra rounded on him. "You could have gotten killed! You could have gotten all of us killed!” ‘Rhen winced at her words, shooting a quick glance in Dorian’s direction who was digging through a pack attached to one of the horses, his back to them. “What were you thinking rushing in like that?" Despite her anger, 'Rhen could sense the concern in her voice. As the adrenaline and lyrium began to wear off, a weariness set in and he felt deflated, used up. It always happened after a lyrium rush and somehow, he always managed to forget that. The sharp pain in his side wasn’t helping, either. 

"It had to be done," he replied, leaning on his sword. His head dropped forward, suddenly too heavy. Gods, he was exhausted.

"You are the only one we have," she said, exasperation leaking into her tone. "You are our only chance at survival. You _must_ be more careful." 

'Rhen sighed and sat heavily on the ground, legs too unsteady to hold him up. Of course, she was right. Cassandra always was. He removed his gloves and dropped them in the sand beside him, running his aching fingers through his hair. 

"I know. I'm sorry.” He looked up at her apologetically, feeling every bit the idiot he was. “I don't know... I don't know what came over me."

"Here. Take this," she said, voice softening. Cassandra handed him a healing drought and walked away, shaking her head. She didn't look any better than him, and probably felt even worse, which made ‘Rhen feel guilty and selfish. He had come to trust, and even like some of his companions. Yet, here he was, putting them in danger. He was reckless. More reckless than he'd been in a long time. ‘Rhen had to admit his worry over his clan was affecting him more than he'd realized. He uncorked the drought and downed the bitter contents. 

"Andraste's holy knickers, we made it!" Varick said, stepping up beside him, his crossbow slung back over his shoulder. "But let's not do that again." 

'Rhen nodded in reply. "Thanks. For saving me back there."

"Ah, don't mention it. All part of the job. Plus, it'll make for a great story."

'Rhen chuckled, wincing at the pain in his side. "Oh, great. Anything for the story."

"Alright, hero," Varric rested his hand on 'Rhen's shoulder. "Let's get you back to camp before you expire on us. I may look strong, but these hands were made for writing, not carrying." He gave 'Rhen a pat on the shoulder and extended his hand to help him up. 'Rhen gladly took it, exerting his remaining strength to remain upright. Thankfully, the healing drought was kicking in and the pain had subsided to a dull throb. He glanced over at Cassandra who was tending to their mounts, the sight of her injuries sending pangs of guilt through him. But it was seeing blood on Dorian's face that really drove it home. 

An ugly gash ran across Dorian’s cheek and over the bridge of his nose. An errant brushstroke on a masterpiece. An accusation. Cassandra’s words echoed in ‘Rhen’s head, each one a knife in his heart. Guilt was not adequate enough a word to express what ‘Rhen felt, and it suddenly struck him. This was more than a simple dalliance. Dorian was fast becoming a part of him in a way he hadn’t allowed anyone else to be. He had tried to deny it. But whatever lies and excuses he told himself crumbled under the weight of the truth. 

He _loved_ Dorian. 

It was a difficult thing to acknowledge, especially with the shadow of his past looming over him. The thought of Dorian being privy to his past, of knowing who he truly was, terrified ‘Rhen. He’d much preferred that everyone kept believing in the palliative lie he’s sold the Inquisition and the rest of Thedas. But seeing Dorian hurt - through ‘Rhen’s own failure no less - crushed him. He had an obligation. If he were forced to choose between Dorian and his duty, would he be able to make the right choice? Would he even want to?

"Ah, guess I'll leave you to it," Varric shrugged, turning on his heel and walking off to help Cassandra as Dorian approached with a handful of bandages and salves. ‘Rhen swallowed hard, wishing he, too, could vanish into the sand. The unreadable expression on Dorian’s face stirred anxiety that settled like a heavy stone in the pit of his stomach. ‘Rhen tightened his jaw, preparing for an onslaught of harsh words and sarcastic remarks. The silence that followed was deafening. 

As the distance between them closed, Dorian set down the bandages and wordlessly motioned for ‘Rhen to remove his armor. ‘Rhen complied without question. In his state, he couldn’t have said no even if he wanted to, feeling utterly wrung out with the last bit of lyrium and adrenaline vanishing. He tried not to think about Dorian’s steely gaze on him as he undid the buckles of his vambraces, guards, and pauldrons. They fell one by one onto the sand with a dull clang, forgotten. He tried not to think about Dorian’s disappointment and anger as he removed his breastplate. It slipped from his fingers to join the rest of his armor. He tried not to think about the faint scent of soap that still lingered despite their long ride and battle as Dorian stepped closer to help him remove the gambeson. The buttons were damnably small and hard to work with, but Dorian made quick work of them, sliding the leather off his shoulders. ‘Rhen clenched his fists, trying to think about anything but Dorian’s hands on his body, warmth penetrating easily through the thin cotton fabric of his shirt. But his mind was slowly unraveling with every touch until Dorian became all ‘Rhen could think of, consumed by desire that had been simmering for weeks now.

"Your face… I'm sorry,” he managed roughly. His brain couldn’t form any other coherent thought beyond the meagre apology, teetering on the knife’s edge between arousal and guilt. He would have fallen to his knees for Dorian if he had asked him to. At this point, ‘Rhen would have done damn near anything just to get _some_ reaction out of him. Anything. 

“Say something. Please,” he said, flinching at the desperation in his voice. The silence was killing him. The infuriatingly impassive expression on Dorian’s face remained as his hands slid lower down ‘Rhen’s chest, drawing out a shudder with every motion. It was all too much. 

“I’ll need to see your wound,” was all the warning Dorian gave him before pulling ‘Rhen’s shirt free of his waistband. The fabric clung to his skin with congealed blood and ‘Rhen hissed through his teeth as Dorian carefully peeled it off, revealing a startling amount of torn flesh. It looked far worse than it felt, and the healing potion had done enough to stem the bleeding, but it was enough to break through Dorian’s carefully maintained stoicism. His mouth parted, allowing a single Tevene curse to pass through. 

“You idiot...” The words crashed into ‘Rhen with the full weight of sincerity and pain behind them and ‘Rhen’s breath caught in his throat. Whatever else he could think to say in response died along with the rest of his composure as Dorian placed the open palm of his hand against ‘Rhen’s skin, mouth moving with incantations ‘Rhen could not understand.

“Dorian…” His heart stammered in his chest at the contact. He hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but the name escaped him nonetheless, breathless and traitorous. He grabbed hold of Dorian’s shoulder, knees threatening to give. He told himself it was so he could stand. But really, it was nothing more than a blatant and desperate attempt to fulfill his need to touch. His whole world collapsed into the single point of contact between them, the heat of Dorian’s palm in contradiction to the chill of the spell. Sweet Elgar’nan, he was coming undone like some novice on the verge of his very first climax. As ‘Rhen watched Dorian’s mouth move, something in him snapped. 

_Su an'banal i'min. Ahn sulevem, ne…_

‘Rhen didn’t know whether it was exhaustion or the delirium that was comfortably setting in – and he didn’t particularly care which – but the last shred of his inhibition evaporated without so much as a whimper of protest. He placed one hand over Dorian’s, waiting with bated breath for the telltale sign of denial. His other hand moved deliberately along Dorian’s shoulder, his fingers slipping under the too-fine fabric of his collar, luxuriating in the feel of muscle tightening under his touch. The moment stretched into eternity and compressed into a fraction of a second in the same breath. He gave Dorian every opportunity to stop him, every chance to escape, weaving his fingers into the mess of dark hair that slipped effortlessly between his digits, unreasonably soft. 

The lean of Dorian’s head into his touch and the soft rumble in his throat was all the invitation ‘Rhen needed. With a low groan, he surrendered completely to the whims of his body, grabbing hold of Dorian’s collar, and closing the distance between them.

There was nothing chaste or sweet about the kiss that followed. It was a collision of pent-up desires long overdue, and it was everything ‘Rhen had hoped it would be. His tongue delved into Dorian’s mouth, tasting the bitterness of the healing potion and remnants of lyrium and it set him aflame. When Dorian returned the kiss with fervor, biting and sucking on ‘Rhen’s lower lip, breathing him in, he nearly lost all sense. How had he waited so long for this? Every nerve in ‘Rhen’s body ignited with need as Dorian’s hands traversed every inch of his torso with hunger that matched his own. For a brief moment, he forgot the world and its bleak reality because in that instant Dorian was _his,_ and ‘Rhen was never letting him go.

*******

The unbearable heat of the day had woken Cassandra up in the most unpleasant sort of way. Her smallclothes were soaked through with sweat and so were the sheets. For the life of her she could not figure out why Lavellan had to drag them all out here to Hissing Wastes. For the better part of the week, he had been rushing headlong into every conceivable danger with no regard for his own – or anyone else’s, for that matter – safety. Reckless was putting it mildly. Clearly, something was bothering the Inquisitor and she wished he would share the burden. But he remained ever so resolutely silent on the matter, brushing off concern with humor. How very typical of him. He was certainly nothing if not consistent. Cassandra grunted in disgust and began peeling off her clothes, layer by unpleasant layer. Suddenly, the Frostbacks didn’t seem so bad.

Rummaging through her sack, she pulled out a clean undershirt and a pair of cotton pants, shaking out stray grains of sand. Really. This place. Leaving now would not be soon enough. The only thing missing at this point was a dragon. 

She hesitated at the thought, the implication weighing on her. Maker, please let there be no dragon! With the way things were going, they would not make it out of that fight alive, she was certain of it. And Cassandra had every intention of surviving this blighted nightmare, even if she had to drag Lavellan by his collar back to Skyhold. 

Deeming herself adequately presentable, Cassandra exited the tent. The rock canopy they had set camp under provided a reasonable amount of shade, but the heat of the day had left the air barely breathable. It was no wonder they chose to travel by night. Even with the evening approaching, it was still disgustingly hot. Why they were here was perplexing, but why anyone had chosen to _live_ here was beyond comprehension. She could already feel sweat dripping down the back of her neck. Andraste save her…

“I would be happy to never set foot here again,” she muttered to herself. Her only hope was that they would be done with this place as soon as possible. Thank the Maker the days were short. As soon as her eyes adjusted to the light, Cassandra quickly glanced about. Varric was still in his tent, seemingly unperturbed by the heat, Harding was hiding under the shade, shuffling through map scrolls, and Dorian was standing by the Inquisitor, making ridiculous hand gestures about what she could only imagine. Cassandra trusted Dorian about as far as she could throw him, which, lately, has been a good deal more than she thought she would. He had proven himself a worthy ally. And, she admitted, she was glad the Inquisitor found in him someone to be happy with. As last night so evidently showed. _Enthusiastically_ so. Certainly, worthy of a _Swords and Shields_ chapter. Not that she was going to be the one to suggest it to Varric. That would be her final embarrassment. No. Best not to mention it at all. In any case, Varric was the last person who needed suggestions on matters such as this.

She was about to go wash her face and hands when the Inquisitor called her over.

“Cassandra! A peace offering.” 'Rhen extended a small plate of food to her and Cassandra eyed it with a healthy amount of suspicion. To her utter surprise, the contents actually looked and smelled delicious. She wasn't sure what it was or where he managed to procure the ingredients, but she was sure she didn't want to know. The Herald of Andraste, a cook! How will he surprise her next? Her stomach growled in anticipation.

“I suppose it’ll do," she commented nonchalantly, accepting the offer. "But do not think you can get off so easily.”

“Not for a moment.” 'Rhen nodded, a small half smile playing across his weathered face. Cassandra returned it. She couldn’t help it. The earnestness in his eyes was disarming. Stripped away of armor and grime of battle, he was no longer the Inquisitor, or the Herald. He was her friend, first and foremost. 

“Now we can all sit in a circle and sing songs of friendship and camaraderie!” Dorian exclaimed, resting his elbow on 'Rhen’s shoulder and extending his other to Cassandra. She gave a disgruntled noise in reply accompanied by a raised brow.

“Do not push your luck, mage.”

The rest of the day passed in relative ease despite the heat, and the discussion eventually turned to course of action come sunset. Harding’s recent scouts discovered the Venatori had interest in Dwarven artifacts. Cassandra had briefly skimmed through the reports, finding little sense in them. Whatever this was seemed secondary to a much bigger problem. But she also understood how something insignificant could potentially turn deadly if left unexamined. She had to trust the Inquisitor knew what he was doing.

“From what I gathered, they’re searching for some artifact in the dwarven tombs scattered across the desert,” Harding supplied. “I’ve scouted ahead and marked their locations on your map.”

“If it’s important to them, it’s important to us,” Lavellan agreed, bending over the small table to get a better look at the maps. Cassandra nodded, taking her place by his side. She scanned the map herself and her heart sank. The tombs were scattered all over the map. This would take them weeks. At least. She was used to long assignments, her training ensured it. But even she had her limits. 

“Surely the Inquisition can spare additional resources to manage this,” she suggested, giving the map an encompassing wave. 

“Hmm,” the Inquisitor rubbed his jaw in thought. “I can send a message to Leliana or Cullen. But it would take time to receive any kind of meaningful support.” Cassandra sighed. Of course. She knew this.

“Do we, at least, know anything about these Dwarven tombs,” she asked. “Why the sudden interest from the Venatori?”

“Dwarven tombs?” Varric, who had finally joined them, looked at Harding, then at the map she had drawn up. “Well, this should be interesting. Can’t say I’m too excited, though.” 

“I was hoping you could provide us with some insight,” Harding quipped hopefully.

“On what? People I barely know? Or care to know?”

“Are you always this useless, or is it just when I’m around?” Cassandra asked, giving Varric a disapproving look. He only shrugged in response, pouring himself a cup of water.

“You know me, Seeker. I always aim to please.”

“Ugh.” Cassandra rolled her eyes and returned her attention to the map, not in the mood to be baited into another argument.

“In any case,” the Inquisitor interrupted, pointing to one of the marked locations. “I think we should head north, first.”

“I agree,” Harding said. “We could set up camp near the ravine there,” she pointed to a small nondescript area of the map. “It would give you a good escape route and place you close to the first tomb.”

“Then it’s decided,” 'Rhen concluded and collected the map from Harding. As he was rolling it up to put it in his saddle pack, a messenger crow landed on their requisition table. It wasn’t that unusual to receive updates from Leliana out in the field, so Cassandra didn’t think twice about it. Part of her hoped it was a summons to go elsewhere. Somewhere less arid, somewhere where she could finally properly bathe and not be drenched in sweat for the entire duration of day and night. Blessed Maker, she would never take bathing for granted again. Crossing the short distance to the requisitions table, Cassandra took the message and broke the delicate seal.

“Wait!” the Inquisitor called out behind her, rushing to her side and hastily grabbing the message from her hands. She was about to unleash a few choice words in his direction when she saw his face. All color drained from it as his eyes scanned over the words, hands shaking. Dread washed over her as the Inquisitor lifted his face to meet her gaze, expression hardening.

“Is everything alright,” she asked, trying her best to keep concern out of her voice. “Is it Corypheus?”

“No,” he shook his head and that somehow made Cassandra feel worse. Maybe it was the look in his eyes. Wild. _Terrified…?_ “I- I need you to take over. I need to get back to Skyhold.”

Cassandra blinked, sure she had misheard. “What? I can’t!”

But the Inquisitor didn’t give her time to argue.

“I promise I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He shoved the map into her hands, jumped on his hart, and sped off, leaving her behind in stunned silence.

Cassandra stared in shock at the Inquisitor’s retreating back. He was joking, he had to be! He couldn’t possibly just up and leave. Could he? What was the message? Why leave on his own? Cassandra didn’t like having more questions than answers. She inevitably turned to Dorian. Surely, he knew something. But Dorian looked just as confused as she was, if not more. 

“This can’t be good,” Varric said, giving voice to their collective thought, which was entirely unhelpful.

“You can’t seriously think we can do this without him,” Dorian exclaimed. “I mean, I’m good, but I’m not _that_ good.”

“I agree with Sparkler, there. Unless you’ve been holding out on us, Seeker.”

The initial state of shock was starting to wear off as the full implication of their predicament set in. Taking charge wasn’t the issue here. Cassandra trained for this. She was more concerned about the look in Lavellan’s eyes. Whatever he was in the mad rush to get back to he considered worse than Corypheus. And that was worrisome. What could possibly take precedence? 

“We go back.” Cassandra said with some determination. She put the Inquisition together, but she was in no position to lead it. If anything happened to Lavellan, they would all pay the price in blood. 

“My thoughts exactly,” Varric nodded, already on his way to pack his tent. Cassandra spared another glance in the direction Lavellan vanished, holding out hope that maybe he saw sense and changed his mind. But he hadn’t. And she knew he wouldn’t, stubborn as he was.

They were packed and on their way to Val Royeaux before sundown. From there, a small ship would take them to Jader. And from Jader, Skyhold was a couple days’ trek through the Frostbacks. Thankfully, they arrived in one piece without further incident. Though all things considered, that was little consolation. As soon as they stepped through the gates, Cassandra made a beeline towards the war room, expecting a full explanation. What she found, though, was a very perplexed Josephine. 

No one seemed to know where the Inquisitor had gone off to.

Panic settled over Cassandra as a million scenarios played through her mind. She mentally flipped through the many contingency plans they had in place for this very thing, but they all seemed woefully inadequate. 

“Are you sure you haven’t seen him?” she questioned Josephine again, stopping mid pace. “He said he was coming straight here. And we weren’t far behind him. He can’t have just disappeared!” 

“I’m afraid I know as little as you,” Josephine replied, hysteria seeping into her tone. Cassandra rubbed her face in frustration, haunted by Lavellan’s expression. What in Maker’s grace possessed him? She resumed her pacing when the door swung open and Leliana walked in, surrounded by a grim aura. 

“I’m sorry, Josie,” Leliana’s unnaturally calm voice penetrated through the panic as she joined them in Josephine’s office. She handed the crumpled letter she was holding to Cassandra who took it from her and skimmed through it. It took a few reads for realization to sink in. And as it did, her heart sank to the pit of her stomach. 

_Ambassador Montilyet,_

_I regret to inform you that a contingent of soldiers gathered from other cities in the Free Marches attacked Wycome and slew most of the elves within, including all of the Dalish clan._

_They avoided attacking humans when possible, and were willing to meet with us once their bloody work was done. They professed shock that Duke Antoine had been using red lyrium and insisted that all they knew was that the elves had rebelled and killed the rightful rulers of the city._

_This has all been branded a tragic misunderstanding, and the nobles who now rule Wycome insist that they will repay the Inquisition for this horrible mistake._

_I await my return to Skyhold at your earliest convenience._

_Yours, Lady Guinevere Volant_

“He’s gone.”


End file.
